Free Wish List by Fern Michaels Page A

computer she didn’t know how to use. A smaller room, next to Ariel’s office, was Dolly’s office. The furnishings were identical, right down to the computer and plant on her desk.
    Dolly’s braid swished back and forth as she bounced up and down on her ergonomic chair. “This is all pretty nice, but neither of us knows diddly-squat about computers. Those women in the outer office don’t know anything, either. We could probably run this company into the ground with very little effort.”
    “We’ll be computer literate inside of a week. We’re going to . . . to . . . input all that stuff in those boxes into the computer. We can do this, Dolly. Think positive.”
    “I am thinking. When are we going to fit this into our schedule? We have truck driving lessons every morning. We have firearms in the afternoon and martial arts lessons. We’ll be too tired in the evenings to absorb anything. You have to pay attention when you’re on a computer. One of the characters on my soap opera erased a whole folder full of numbered Swiss bank accounts. ‘Gone ’ !” she said dramatically. “ ‘Millions down the drain ’ !”
    “That’s not going to happen to us. We’ll schedule the computer lessons for early in the morning at my house. We’ll pay the girls for their travel time and the time they spend on the class. I think that’s fair. The lessons can start at seven, after we have breakfast. Nothing fancy, whatever you feel in the mood to make. Supper’s leftovers.”
    “Who’s going to be in the office? Somebody needs to be here. Think about this—I make breakfast and then I go to the office. Maybe they have another teacher who can train me there. See if you can find one with a lot of patience who won’t mind interruptions. Phone’s ringing, Ariel.”
    “I know. I just don’t know which buttons to press. There should be a manual here someplace.”
    “By the time you find it, we’ll have lost an account. Press all of them and see what happens.”
    Ariel did as instructed. She pressed button after button and said “Able Body Trucking” six times before she heard a voice on the other end of the line. “Yes, Mr. Sanders.” She listened politely. “It’s ten minutes past six, Mr. Sanders. We don’t open until seven. I think it’s wonderful that Mr. Able was in the office at five in the morning. I’m not Mr. Able. The schedule is on the door. I believe Mr. Able put it there himself. Our hours are seven to seven. The dispatcher’s office is open twenty-four hours a day. It’s commendable that you rise at four in the morning. I get up at six the way most people do and I’ll be .here at seven. Now, what is it you want? I’m probably not going to be able to help you, anyway. We’re undergoing renovations here and all the paperwork is . . . is being . . . fed into a computer. You can, however, check with Stanley or the dispatcher. Yes, he is a bit of a curmudgeon, but he’s a loyal curmudgeon and it’s my understanding that he knows everything there is to know about Able Body Trucking. Lunch? I can’t. I’m too busy. I’m booked up until the middle of June, lunchwise that is. No, I’m not putting you on. Of course we can accommodate you on delivery. Tell me what you want. I can’t make arrangements unless you’re specific. Yes, I have a pencil.”
     
     
    “As usual, his problem is not earth-shattering and he could have called the dispatcher. You know something, Dolly? He has this strange voice—it reminds me of someone, but I can’t think who. Actually, it’s kind of sexy.” Her hand flew to her cheek in a purely reflex motion. Dolly turned away. “He invited me to lunch. I said no. He probably wants preferential treatment and wants to butter me up. Not likely.” Her thumb caressed the indentation in her cheek and then moved down to the cleft in her chin. “Not likely.”
    “You know, Ariel, he is this company’s biggest client. You should give this man a little more consideration. What